


Fever In My Blood

by AnnieforSimonsflower



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Dom/sub, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-01
Updated: 2006-11-01
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieforSimonsflower/pseuds/AnnieforSimonsflower
Summary: Magic has ways of working around denial.





	Fever In My Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This story is archived on behalf of Simons_flower, who passed away in 2009, by her designated archivist.

  
Author's notes: For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/hprwfqf/profile)[**hprwfqf**](http://community.livejournal.com/hprwfqf/) [third challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/hprwfqf/23788.html), round three.  Challenge:  Post-HBP 15; when Point Me spells go horribly wrong and lead you and your best mate into kinky night clubs where you’ve got to play along or else.  


* * *

** Fever In My Blood **

We're not lost. We can't be lost if I know we're somewhere in Surrey. Right? I grew up in Surrey, so I should be able to get us to London. Except the Dursleys never took me anywhere unless forced to do so and I have no idea where we are.

 

"Fuck," I mutter.

 

"I thought you knew how to get to the Apparition point," Ron growls, tugging his collar higher against the rain.

 

Running a hand through my hair, I curse again. "I did...before we fucked up and got Portkeyed."

 

A mirthless laugh escapes him. "Some Aurors we are."

 

I grin. "We sent the Death Eater in. We caught him."

 

"So we're only half-failures," he sighs. "Kingsley is going to have our asses."

 

I bite my lip and sigh. The less thinking about Ron's arse, the better for my mental health. Thinking about Ron's arse means my mind isn't on the job.

 

"The Apparition point was northeast of Privet Drive," I offer. Ron gives me a withering glare in return. "Now, if we knew where Privet Drive was, it would help."

 

"Why don't we just Apparate from here?"

 

"Only if we want to call undue attention to ourselves."

 

Ron hunches over as he scans the empty street. "Undue attention?"

 

"You wouldn't want to bring a group of Death Eaters down on our heads, would you?"

 

Ron rolls his eyes. "Oh, no, wouldn't want that."

 

I smack the back of his head. Hard. He glares at me, rubbing the spot I hit. I glare back. "Unless you've got something better, a little less sarcasm would be appreciated."

 

He sighs and tries to burrow further down inside his coat. The rain turns to snow as I watch the water drip from his hair.

 

"Fuck," we mutter simultaneously.

 

"Do you think we're north or south of London?" Ron asks.

 

"Given that most of the country is north, I'll play those odds and say we're north." Ron stares at me. "What?" He just shakes his head.

 

"So which way is south?" he asks.

 

I glance up and down the street which is slowly turning white. Just as I open my mouth to say that I've got no fucking clue, I remember a spell Hermione taught me in fourth year. Pulling my wand out, I lay it flat on my palm.

 

"You sure that won't attract undue attention?" Ron teases.

 

I roll my eyes at him. It's minimal magic that should fade into the background, but now he has me worried, damn him. After a brief internal debate, I decide to go ahead with the spell. If Death Eaters were looking for us on this end of the Portkey, we would have been found by now, spells or Apparition or not.

 

"Point me!" I whisper.

 

My wand spins in my hand a half-dozen times then points to our left.

 

Ron sighs. "We could just head in somewhere, make a Portkey of our own, and go back to the Ministry."

 

"We'll get our asses chewed for making an unauthorized Portkey," I say, but the idea appeals.

 

"An unauthorized Portkey is what go us here in the first place," Ron points out.

 

"Duly noted," I murmur. Looking down at my wand again and thinking we need a place private enough to make a Portkey but public enough that we won't stand out, I whisper, "Point me there!" and hope it works.

 

My wand spins again, only a few times, then points right. _Well, damn, it did work._

 

Ron shrugs, tugs his collar higher against the snow, and says, "What the hell...let's go."

 

We trudge down the street. We didn't dress for snow. I can feel it seeping in over the tops of my shoes, making my socks wet and cold.

 

Halfway down the block, my wand twitches in my hand. Stopping, I lay a hand on Ron's arm. Though the touch is light, he stops, hours of working together coming to the fore to make use of our silent communication. Pulling my wand from my pocket, I hold it loosely. We both watch it shiver, then point to a non-descript black door just ahead of us between two boarded-up windows.

 

Ron jerks his head at the door. _This one?_

 

I nod before tucking my wand away. After pulling my hands from my pockets, I leave my arms dangle loosely at my sides. _Ready._ My fingers tingle from the cold, but I ignore it.

 

Ron moves forward and I follow a step behind. He tries the knob. We're both surprised when it opens freely. He enters first -- we've found that even if there are things waiting for us on the other side of the door, most people are usually taken aback at a six and a half foot redhead built like an American football linebacker.

 

However, what's on the other side of this door is almost more shocking than if it were a Death Eater: it's a night club. A gay night club.

 

We're spotted before we can back out the door.

 

"Come in, you're letting the cold in," the barkeep says. We move inside far enough to the door to close. "Take a seat, gentlemen, you're just in time for the show."

 

_The show?_

 

After a quick glance at each other, then the room, we both come to the silent realization that, at least for the moment, we're stuck.

 

Ron leads us to a table as close to the door as he can manage. After a quick glance around the room, I realize with a jolt that I'm practically going to have to sit in his lap so we don't stand out. I swallow nervously before taking a seat and sidling up to him. He looks down at me, raising his eyebrows in question. I nod in the general direction of the other tables. He smiles enigmatically in response, sliding an arm onto the back of my chair as a result.

 

The lights fall, accompanied by the sound of a few scraping chairs and, in one case, a soft moan. A solitary light returns, a spotlight on the stage.

 

A single man is there. A single man dressed in leather dom gear with a flogger in his hand.

 

"Fuck," Ron whispers, hunger lacing his voice.

 

While part of me is glad Ron is aroused at the scene because it means I'm not abnormal for being aroused, the rest of me is disturbed for the same reason. What will happen if we're both aroused?

 

The pool of light widens, revealing a barely-legal boy clad in nothing more than a leather thong, a leather strap around his wrists and a collar with leash. The dom takes the end of the lease from the boy, tugging downward. The boy kneels, eyes downcast.

 

"Fuck," Ron whispers again. He shifts in his seat, his arm falling onto my shoulders as he does. Neither of us move it.

 

A twitch of the leash is an order to turn around. The boy then bends over a stool, arse to the crowd. A soft murmur and a sigh is heard from the audience, but nothing more.

 

I want to shift restlessly to ease my arousal, but I can't. Ron hasn't moved except to twitch his fingers against my shoulder. His breathing is carefully even, moderated.

 

The dom raises the flogger, the leather dull with use in the spotlight. He waits, raising the tension. When he brings it down, the tails land with a solid smack against the boy's pale arse. The red stripes on white skin leaves me restlessly aroused.

 

Ron inhales sharply. I don't dare look at him.

 

Four more lashes decorate the boy's arse, thighs and back, livid red amidst the white.

 

"Fuck," I mutter softly.

 

The dom twitches the leash once more. The boy stands, slowly enough that it's obvious the welts are causing discomfort. The dom wraps the leash around his hand several times, taking up the slack, until the boy is less than an arm's length from him. A sharp tug has the boy on his knees, chin forced high.

 

I swallow hard.

 

Only when the boy is led forward into the audience on his knees does Ron turn to me.

 

"Portkey," he hisses, his breath hot on my ear.

 

Swallowing hard once again, I nod furiously. I have to shake my head slightly to dispel some of the fog. Looking around, I see an empty glass on the table beside us. A wandless Accio spell calls it to my hands. The glass is in my lap, making Ron reach down to my thigh to touch the soon-to-be Portkey.

 

Despite the heat of the room and the heat of my arousal, a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

 

" _Portus_ ," I whisper. Ron counts down.

 

On _three_ , we're whisked to an interrogation room at Auror headquarters where Kingsley Shacklebolt awaits us.

 

_Shit._

 

He lays his palms flat on the table after motioning us to sit down. Once we're seated, he still says nothing, merely glances between us before opening the file in front of him and apparently reading it.

 

The silence and tension do not abate my arousal. If anything, the desire to lock myself in my office and wank increases with every minute filled only with Ron's breathing.

 

"Lestrange has been processed," Kingsley says sharply. As he looks up at us, he closes the file gently. The self-control in the motion is nothing like the tension keeping Ron and I on edge, but is dangerous all the same.

 

"He's locked down and restrained," Kingsley continues.

 

I ignore the way Ron's fingers curl on his thigh at the word _restrained_.

 

Kingsley steeples his fingers under his chin, eyes flat and hard as they take us in. "Given that, where the fuck have you two been for the last hour?" He pauses only long enough for Ron and I to share a look. "You send your target in then vanish. Tell me what I'm supposed to think when my two best Aurors vanish."

 

Ron clears his throat. When Kingsley turns on him, pinning him with that flat gaze, Ron flinches.

 

"Yes, Weasley?"

 

"Portkey, sir," Ron answers.

 

"A Portkey?"

 

"Yes, sir," I chime in. Sheer stubbornness keeps my eyes on Kingsley's when he turns to me. "Lestrange threw a Portkey at us before we sent him in. We ended up somewhere in Surrey."

 

He raises on eyebrow. "And the delay in your return?"

 

"I was unsure if we'd been Portkeyed into a Death Eater nest or not. I convinced Auror Weasley not to Apparate or otherwise perform magic just in case it would pull Death Eaters down on our heads."

 

Kingsley turns to Ron. "Do you concur with that explanation, Weasley?"

 

I can feel Ron look sideways at me, but I don't move. Ron returns his eyes to Kingsley. "Yes, sir, that is correct."

 

After one last annoyed glance between the two of us, Kingsley huffs. "Very well. Potter, Weasley, you're both suspended for a week without pay. Even as rookies, you didn't fuck up a capture so royally. If I don't see improvement when you return, you'll both be sent for remedial training." He allows the threat to hang in the air for a long minute before growling, "Dismissed."

 

I Apparate directly from the interrogation room to the flat I share with Ron. Stripping off as quickly as I can, I head into the shower. It's as cold as I can stand without my teeth chattering.

 

I don't know what was more uncomfortable: being in that club with Ron knowing I wanted to be in that collar or being reprimanded and suspended with a raging hard-on distracting me.

 

Leaning back against the wall of the shower, I wrap a trembling hand around my cock. Four pulls are all it takes to have me coming, panting Ron's name as my legs give out.

 

"I was going to ask if you were as affected by that club as I was, but I guess I know my answer."

 

Scrambling upward, cursing as I slip once, I yank the shower curtain to the side only far enough to expose my head. Ron is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the door.

 

"Get the fuck out, Ron!" I'm embarrassed beyond belief -- _I wasn't caught in school, but am now?_ \-- and hacked off he's invaded my privacy like this.

 

"No," he answers, straightening.

 

"No?" I repeat. His resistance is arousing me again.

 

He grins. "No." He takes two steps into the room so he can close the door behind himself.

 

"Ron," I growl warningly despite the fact there's not much I can do in my current position.

 

He continues to grin even as he begins to strip off. I snarl at him and yank the curtain shut, not that it really blocks anything anyway. I'm sure he can see my silhouette even as I can hear the rustle of his clothing over the shower. Releasing my death-grip on the curtain, I viciously turn the water even colder.

 

The curtain rings rattle above me. Without turning, I know Ron is now behind me in the shower. I silently curse myself as I lean forward and brace trembling hands on the tile.

 

The heat of his body is in stark contrast to the chill of the water. His breath is downright hot on the back of my neck when he leans forward to speak in my ear. Well, growl, really.

 

"I heard your answer, Harry, heard it when you called my name as you came."

 

I say nothing. Ducking my head, I send cold water sluicing down my back. yet it's with heat, not cold, that I shiver when he moves closer still. He leans forward far enough to cage me in, his hands next to mine on the tile.

 

If this were fantasy and not reality, I'd have come from the tension twice-over already.

 

Ron takes a step forward. Suddenly, we're skin-to-skin from shoulder to hip, his hard cock nestled in the crack of my arse. Saying nothing, he slides his hands over mine.

 

I'm burning.

 

His hands slide up my arms, steady against my trembling.

 

"Were you imagining yourself in that collar, Harry?" he whispers in my ear.

 

I moan.

 

"Picturing your arse red from lashing?" His voice vibrates along my nerves. "I think you were hard when Kingsley was reprimanding us, too."

 

I have to open my mouth and gulp air.

 

"Did you _want_ us in that club, Harry?"

 

I shake my head. I didn't want to be there, but the side effect is one I'd ask for over and over.

 

Ron makes a noise that could be scoffing or murmuring. He moves back and I have to stifle my moan of disappointment. After a moment he returns, sliding one slippery finger against my arse.

 

When I bite my lower lip, he leans forward to whisper, "I want to hear you, Harry."

 

"Fuck," I hiss, closing my eyes. My head lolls to the side. Ron takes advantage, leaning forward to gently bite the cord of my neck.

 

A deep moan escapes my throat.

 

"Yes, just like that," he says, sounding supremely pleased.

 

He pressed two fingers into me, stretching past that tight ring of muscle. I wince and moan simultaneously, the pain both arousing and raw.

 

"Yes, Harry, just like that," he whispers.

 

When he ducks his head to bite me right where my neck and shoulder meet, I can't hold back any longer. With a furious shudder, I come. His other hand wraps around my cock, milking me, and all I can do is tremble in his arms as I thrust into his fist.

 

"Mine," he hisses.

 

"Yours," I agree.

 

He slips his fingers from me as he releases my cock. I'm surprised I'm still standing since my muscles feel like they have the consistency of running water. Ron, after cleaning his fingers, returns his hands to my hips. I feel the head of his cock against me and tremble once again.

 

It takes two thrusts for Ron to be buried fully inside me.

 

"Oh fuck," I moan.

 

"Yes, that's what I'm going to do," Ron replies.

 

He shifts one hand to grip my re-awakening cock, but keeps a firm grip on my hip with the other, using it to brace himself as he thrusts. As he fucks me. I can only moan and pant and brace myself on the wall, at his mercy.

 

And I love it.

 

This is what I had imagined in that club, being at Ron's mercy, being controlled, dominated, possessed by him. In every other aspect of our lives, I was in control. In _this_ , I wanted to be controlled by him.

 

His voice drops another octave when he moves his mouth right next to my ear, close enough to lick the shell of it, and asks, "You've come twice...do you have another in you?"

 

"Fuck," I groan.

 

"That's the idea."

 

My hands curl against the tile as Ron accompanies his words by thrusting into me so hard that I see stars. Panting heavily now -- _which could be the reason I'm seeing stars_ \-- I clench my arse around his cock. His breath is in short bursts against my shoulder, driving me insane.

 

Ron chuckles softly, the vibration spiraling my arousal even higher. "The Boy Who Lived To Be Buggered By His Best Mate." Even I can hear the capitals in that sentence.

 

I grit my teeth, the words and image drawing one last climax out of me. Ron groans deeply as he comes as well. He wrap an arm around my waist when I begin to slide down, utterly boneless now.

 

Since Ron is the only one whose brain and body are functional after that, he warms the water. His hands on my body feel wonderful as he cleans me of come and other fluids. I can only moan softly at his gentle touch. Once he's done with both of us, he shuts the water off, dries us with a charm and helps me down the hall.

 

I'm not surprised when we pass my room and he helps me into his bed.

 

Spooned behind me under the blankets, his arm possessively around my waist once again, his breath soft against the back of my neck, he asks, " _Did_ you mean for us to end up in that club?"

 

I grin and laugh softly. "No, but I like the results even if we were suspended."

 

Ron laughs as well, kissing the back of my neck. "Hmm, suspended...what do you think of handcuffs?"

 

I never knew I could come four times in a night.


End file.
